Earth and Alchemy

I think these walls are killing me

in the half-light of the drapery-filtered morning,
breathing is nearly unbearable;
the fan whirs with its white-noised voice,
failing in its attempt at swallowing the stagnancy,
managing only to distribute it in an oscillating,
luke-warm stream that, every few seconds,
blows directly into my face,
making my breath catch in a baby breath gasp,
the unsure gasp of not knowing from where the next will come

I think these walls are killing me

I sit, immobile, acutely aware of my mass,
of the blood begrudgingly pumping its percussive rhythm in my temples,
of the defective dampness emerging on my forehead,
of the ever-growing patches of petechiae-speckled skin,
evidence of an incurable itch that has risen up from the fate that is history-stitched to the soles of my flattened feet

I think these walls are killing me

I long for a singular, bottomless breath,
for the autonomous, unfiltered sunlight and its searing warmth upon my face,
for the forced closure of my eyes,
for the rays’ piercing, pinky-red glow on the backs of my tired eyelids,
and its tender, ruby kiss lingering on the pasty surface of my gossamer cheeks

I long for earth and alchemy

-image via Pixabay

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Magic Hour

every individual leaf and blade of grass seems to be separate,
the breeze’s chilly prickle-bite gently pluck-plucking at every one,
an unpredictable, yet tranquil symphony,
as the moth’s umber wings glide her by,
speaking in a delicate whisper,
like everyone knows her name,
and all I can think is –
Mother Earth’s voice is such a magnificent view

it’s Magic Hour,
the time when the sunlight is golden,
polished by the friction of time’s passing,
softened by the imminent falling of the night,
lending the world an impossibly beautiful glow,
and it’s music to my eyes

-image via Pexels

Wild

she unzipped the tent and stood,
outstretching her arms,
breathing in the morning

looking out at the expanse of the glassy, mirrored water,
at the billowing greens blanketing the mountainous terrain,
at the mist rising to greet the cerulean sky,
she felt almost frivolous

the sweet tang of wild bergamot skipped along the breeze,
but it was the smell of the lake water that enveloped her,
a rich, damp scent that settled into her clothes and her hair and stayed there,
stitched to her with muddy thread

here, she was wild,
wondrous,
free

White Noise

beside me races the brawny river,
Mother Earth’s lifeline cascading from snowy peaks and forcing its winding path
down, down, down,
it’s miracle reaching through the circle of all living things

rippling and licking at the pure mountain air,
it opens and closes its sunlit doors
as it folds and rolls over itself,
kneading and knotting the collective thread of the life it feeds, 
past, present, and future into one connectedness,
while projecting its time-ridiculing ROAR

I feel in my bones,
the reverberation of its irony –

fast, fast, fast,
it flows,
it’s commanding voice reminding me to
slow, slow, slow,
to listen

for we all end up back where we began
if we only
follow, follow, follow

our spirits are ROARING,
the lifelines feeding our souls, 
forging our winding paths,
speaking to us with powerfully pure voices,
ones which are not ever meant to become 
white noise

-image is mine; poem dedicated to my mountain friend; shared as part of dVerse’s open link night

Gifted

there’s a place where there is no sound
where breathing doesn’t exist
and awe is all that courses veins
where nothing unearthly is missed

there’s a place where past collides
with future on prodigious scale
where something larger than ourselves
infiltrates the heart, the holy grail

there’s a place where the soul is still
where oneness with all is felt
and reverence for life and love a’blooms
where once cold has dwelt

oh, Rocky Mountains, high
thank you for gifting my soul
for calling to my dearest friend
who helps to make my heart whole

I’ll miss you both

-photo is mine